


This Is How It Was Meant To Be

by Sami28214



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Real World, Bellarke, College, Cute, F/M, kinda-but not really smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-26
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2020-10-28 12:43:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20778779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sami28214/pseuds/Sami28214
Summary: It hadn’t happened on purpose. He was her roommate’s brother for crying out loud. Maybe if he had been ugly; maybe if he had a terrible personality it would’ve changed something. Maybe Clarke wouldn't have fallen in love.





	This Is How It Was Meant To Be

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written anything in such a long time. This is terrible. I'm sorry. This is for everyone at college this year for the first time-- making friends is hard, but the ones we make now are going to be there for the rest of our lives. This is for everyone who wants to spend their Saturday night in their dorm room writing crappy fan fiction-- you're valid.

Clarke Griffin hadn’t meant to fall head over heels in love with her roommate’s brother, Bellamy Blake, it had just sort of happened.   
The first time she could remember feeling any sort of feelings for Bellamy was one day in September when he had stopped by her and Octavia’s dorm room to see if he could take them out for pizza. Octavia hadn’t been home, and Clarke had an exam the next day and about one hundred flashcards to memorize. Bellamy had ordered delivery and helped her study until Octavia got home at about three in the morning. Clarke had failed the exam on account of not paying attention to the flashcards, but to the man behind them.   
The next time she felt her heart flutter was when they ran into each other getting coffee. Bellamy bought them a piece of pie to split, and they talked about history for hours. That’s when Clarke learned that Bellamy was in college to become a history teacher. “I loved reading the classics to O,” he had said, “The Iliad, The Odyssey, anything that has to do with gods and goddesses. I love it. I just hope that I can teach it. With the new curriculum it’s becoming more about World War Two than the Trojan War. I swear if I have one more middle-aged white guy explain to me the importance of the impact of that war I’m going to quit.” Of course, Bellamy could never quit what he loved. That was the day that Clarke realized she liked her roommate’s brother as a human, not just an idea.

That first winter break had been a dismal affair. Clarke and her mother sat in their dining room at a table that seated twenty. They were silent except for their initial exchange of pleasantries: “How’s school?” “Fine. How’s the hospital?” “Fine.” By the end of the long holiday Clarke was ready to smash her head against the wall of her room; she refrained only because the walls were abnormally thin, and she shared one with her mother’s room.   
January seventh brought the Blake siblings to her front door, she had asked for a ride back to campus to avoid the two-hour long car ride with her mother, and they had said they were driving through town anyway and that it wouldn’t be any trouble.   
Bellamy rang the doorbell because Octavia was asleep in the back seat of his crappy car. Clarke answered the door and was immediately surprised. She knew that she shouldn’t be. She had asked Bellamy to pick her up. Here he was. Picking her up. Maybe it was the fact that he was on her porch. The last guy that had been this close to Clarke on this porch was Wells Jaha, her first and last boyfriend.   
On the ride back to school Bellamy put on classical music. Clarke knew that it was Vivaldi’s four seasons from the music history class she had had to take but wasn’t sure if it was spring or summer. The thought occupied her mind for thirty minutes of the trip, but when the music came to an end Bellamy glanced her way. He clearly wanted to start a conversation, but Clarke didn’t want to have to answer the how was your break? question, because her break had been terrible, and she didn’t feel like dumping all of that onto Bellamy Blake. Bellamy Blake was cute and nice and smart and didn’t know a thing about her home life. He was the perfect guy. Instead, Clarke started up a conversation about what book he had read most recently (it had been a raunchy romance novel Clarke couldn’t remember the name of).

The semester had started smoothly. On Thursday Clarke walked into her Renaissance History class and found none other than Bellamy Blake. He was her TA for the semester. The pair agreed to grab coffee after class, to the despair of about six other girls in the class who had been waiting around after class let out to get his number. Coffee after Renaissance History became a normal thing. Clarke had a two-hour break between classes, and Bellamy didn’t have anything else for the rest of the day on Thursdays. Sometimes they talked; debated Helen’s role in the Trojan war (“She was the face that launched a thousand ships, Clarke” “I’m just saying, If I attracted that much attention, I would mutilate my face.” “You would not.”), sometimes they sat together in silence, absorbed in their own tasks, but still clearly together.   
It was like this that Octavia found them one day. Together, a half-eaten piece of peach pie with two forks on the table between them.  
Later that night Octavia asked Clarke if they were dating. “What? No. O, that’s ridiculous.”   
“Is it?” she asked, “because I’ve seen the way he looks at you. Y’all ain’t slick. All I’m saying is that if you’re going to bone do it in his room or put a sock on the door. I don’t need to see my brother naked.”  
Octavia’s comment was crass, but it got Clarke thinking, and holy shit. Clarke had a major crush on Bellamy.   
Clarke thought about distancing herself from Bellamy, but admittedly was too weak willed to go cold turkey on the Bellamy front. She liked spending time with him. He made her laugh and she liked to talk to him.

Clarke had been studying at the library late because Octavia had one of her gym friends over in their room. Clarke didn’t have anything against people who went to the gym, she just wasn’t one of them. By the time that she realized that it was eleven at night it was too late to walk home alone. Clarke contemplated running, but she wasn’t in that great of shape, and their dorm was a mile away. Clarke called Bellamy.   
The library shut down at midnight, and Bellamy got off work at the bar he worked at at midnight, so Clarke asked the security guard to wait with her. The security guard was a grouchy old man, but Clarke guessed he was opposed to her walking home alone, so he waited without protest.   
At five past midnight Bellamy came running up to the library. “Hey,” he said, “I got here as soon as I could. Sorry I’m so late.”   
“Bellamy,” Clarke said, “You’re not late at all.”   
The pair quickly fell into step, Bellamy taking smaller steps, so it was easier for Clarke to keep up with him. “How did you get off so early?” Clarke asked. It was just cold enough that she still needed her winter coat, but warm enough that she hadn’t bothered to zip it up.  
Bellamy shoved his hands into the pockets of his light jacket and didn’t make eye contact. “I told Miller that it was an emergency.”  
“Bellamy,” Clarke began to protest, “You didn’t have to—”   
“Yes,” he cut her off, “I did. We both know that you would have tried to walk if I hadn’t shown up.”  
They walked in silence for a few beats. The only sounds were the crunch of their boots on the old snow (more icy sludge by then), and the rustle of Clarke’s coat.   
Clarke was trying not to think about the man next to her. She was trying not to think about letting their fingers brush together, trying not to think about his deep throated laugh and how good it would feel if he—Clarke shook that thought out of her head. She was trying not to think about any other girl he had been with, and oh my god, any girl he was currently with, and oh god, if he had a girlfriend.  
“Bellamy,” Clarke asked before common sense caught up to her, “Do you, um… Are you seeing anyone?”  
Bellamy chuckled lightly, glanced her way, and said “No.”  
Clarke let a sigh of relief escape her lips. “Okay.” At least that was settled, and her mind could be quiet for a second.  
Bellamy and Clarke had reached the main entrance to her dorm. Clarke could see the night security guard at the front desk, see her glance up, shake her head, and look back down. The main entrance to her hall was away from any streetlight, and the dim glow from the lobby lights was almost enough to see Bellamy’s face by.   
“Thank you so much Bell, this means a lot.” Clarke turned to go inside, but Bellamy grabbed her wrist. Clarke turned and suddenly they were standing so close it would’ve been uncomfortable if it had been anyone but Bellamy. Clarke tried to inhale, but found her breath was caught in her throat. Their eyes were locked together.   
“Clarke?” Bellamy asked, “Can I— Can I kiss you?”  
Clark let out a soft sigh and nodded slightly.   
Their lips came together, and it wasn’t anything like Clarke had expected, but it was somehow better. His lips were soft, and he had a day of stubble on his jaw. His hands lightly grazed her lower back; never going below the waist of her jeans in a way that sort of put Clarke in awe at how much of a gentleman he was, and sort of filled her with rage. Clarke wanted him. Wanted him to take her, wanted him to be rough with her, wanted him to put his hands down her pants, find that she wasn’t wearing underwear, and grab her ass.  
Bellamy broke the kiss first and smiled at her disappointed huff. “A different night.” He whispered into her ear. “I want to have prepared for when I make love to you for the first time. I don’t want to do it on a dorm room bed in a room with paper thin walls and the threat of my little sister walking in on us. I want us to be in a place where you can scream my name as loud as you can.”  
Clarke shuddered at his voice. Bellamy kissed her on the forehead, squeezed her hand, and was off into the night leaving Clarke standing in that dull glow of the lobby’s fluorescents, breathless and with a feeling as though she was flying. 

The next Thursday Clarke sat in her Renaissance History class, but she couldn’t focus. It was like she was fine tuned into everything Bellamy. The way he smiled, the way his eyes always caught on her as they swept the room. After class she hung back, packed her laptop into her bookbag three times and slowly wrapped the power cord around her fist until it didn’t have any kinks in it.   
Bellamy waved goodbye to one of the girls as Clarke approached. “I can skip my next class.” She said quietly enough that no one listening out the open door could hear her.  
“Clarke, I’m not going to be responsible for you skipping classes. You need to get your education.” Bellamy put his blue notebook back into his bag and turned back to her.   
“That’s the thing,” she said, “I wouldn’t be able to concentrate on literature knowing that you’re out there somewhere. Out there somewhere… possibly thinking about me.”  
“As tempting as that is,” he said with a sigh, “I have to cover a shift at the bar right now. Murphy never showed and Miller texted me twenty minutes ago.”  
Clarke frowned and put her hands in the pockets of her hoodie. “Okay. Text me when you get off then.”  
Bellamy squeezed between her and the table, letting his hand gently trail along her upper thigh as he did so. “It’s going to be late.”  
“I don’t care.” She replied.

It was nearly one in the morning when Clarke’s phone lit up with a text message. Meet me in the lobby of your dorm. Clarke glanced toward Octavia who was laying on her bed, eating Doritos and watching something on YouTube.   
“Where are you going?” she asked when Clarke began to pull on her ankle boots.  
“I’ve got a date.” Clarke answered after a pause.  
“Better not tell Bellamy. That boy has got it bad for you, I swear.” Clarke chuckled nervously at Octavia’s words. She wasn’t sure when she was going to tell Octavia that she was seeing her brother (not dating, not screwing, but seeing). Maybe she wouldn’t tell Octavia at all. Maybe this was something you didn’t tell your roommate.   
Clarke’s hands were sweaty when she made it to the lobby. Bellamy was leaning over the front desk, talking to the security guard behind it. He glanced up as she approached. He smiled; one side of his mouth was higher than the other and he had dimples.   
Clarke’s heart skipped a beat when he reached for her hand, slowly tugging her toward the darkness of outside. His hand was bigger than hers, a shiver went down her spine of the thought of those hands doing something that wasn’t holding hers.   
Clarke had only been in Bellamy’s car once before, when he picked her up from winter break. He opened the door for her, and she smiled as he shut it behind her. The inside of the car was clean and had a vanilla smell that must have been coming from some sort of air freshener she couldn’t see. He opened his door and slid into the driver’s seat. It was cold in the car, and they could see their breath.   
“Sorry, the heater doesn’t really work.” Bellamy’s eyebrows crinkled together a little as he turned the car on.   
“It’s fine.” Clarke said as she slid her left hand into his right one that was resting on the gear shift.   
Bellamy’s apartment was only a few miles from campus. However, the elevator was broken, and he lived on the eighth floor. Clarke was slightly winded when they finally arrived at his front door. There was a worn welcome mat in front of the door.   
Bellamy opened the door and held it open for Clarke. It was dark inside, and she shivered a bit when he put his hand on her lower back.   
“Clarke—” Bellamy started. “I don’t want you to feel like anything has to happen tonight. We could just watch a movie or something.”  
“Okay.” Clarke said and instantly felt like the biggest looser ever. She had come to Bellamy’s apartment to have sex with him; not to watch a movie.  
Bellamy pointed out the couch to Clarke and said he was going to make popcorn. “Pick a movie for us to watch.” His voice could be heard from the kitchen. “Netflix should already be pulled up.”  
Clarke flipped through Netflix for a while before landing on an hour-long documentary about ancient Mayan temples. Bellamy came through the illuminated doorway with a bowl full of popcorn as the narrator began describing the civilization of the Mayan people.   
“I love this one.” Bellamy said as he sat down on the opposite end of the couch. Clarke felt panicked; maybe Bellamy didn’t like her after all. He was sitting so far away, and he had been the one to suggest not having sex.  
They sat in silence for about twenty minutes, just watching the documentary, before Clarke had had enough. Clarke stood up and tried to think of words to say, any words at all, but they just weren’t coming.  
“Do you want me to take you home?” Bellamy asked, slightly confused.   
“No,” Clarke said, “No, I want you to fuck me.”   
“Clarke—” Bellamy started to say, but Clarke cut him off.  
“Bellamy, I swear to God if you don’t kiss me right now, I’m going to walk out of that door and never talk to you again because of how embarrassed I would be.”  
So, Bellamy stood up. He cupped her face in her hands. And without another word he lightly kissed her. Clarke, however, had another idea for where this was going.   
She wrapped one leg around the back of his and pulled slightly so that he was forced to sit back on the couch. Clarke sat down on his lap, so she was straddling him, running her fingers through his thick, curly hair.  
Bellamy kissed down her neck and Clarke couldn’t help but let loose something akin to a moan or a sigh; she wasn’t sure which it was. Bellamy pulled back for only a second so he could remove his shirt, and Clarke did the same.   
Clarke hadn’t work pretty underwear; she didn’t really own any. Her bra was faded and blue. Bellamy looked at it as if it were something amazing, like she had picked it off a Victoria’s Secret mannequin instead of her bedroom floor that morning.  
Bellamy’s arms wrapped around Clarke so that he was hugging her to him; he was warm—probably a degree or two warmer than he should’ve been. They stayed like that for a while, Clarke sitting on Bellamy’s lap, his arms wrapped around her like he wasn’t planning on letting go, both of them shirtless. They kissed each other, and smiled, and took turns giving each other hickies.   
When they finally pulled away, they were both breathless and their lips were swollen. Bellamy was panting and looking at Clarke like she had hung the stars. Clarke was greedily gulping down air and smiling at Bellamy like she would give him her world.   
“Can we—” Clarke started to ask.  
Yeah.” Bellamy nodded.  
Clarke tried to get off his lap, but her legs had lost feeling a while ago; she ended up just kind of rolling off of him onto the ottoman. Bellamy stood up and pulled his pants up by the beltloops because they had kind of fallen during their make-out session.   
Bellamy led Clarke to the bedroom. Clarke shut the door behind her. 

The next morning Clarke woke up in a strange place. Bellamy’s comforter was on the floor, and only the sheet covered her naked body. She heard the sound of old-timey Taylor Swift coming from the kitchen. She reached down and found one of Bellamy’s sweatshirts lying on the ground and pulled it over her head.  
Bellamy was dancing around the small kitchen waving a spatula around the air. Clarke hung back a second and watched him. He flipped an omelet, poured a cup of coffee, and moonwalked to early 2000’s songs.   
When he saw her lurking there, he nearly had a heart attack. He dropped the spatula and grabbed his chest.   
Clarke giggled a little at his reaction. “It’s not funny.” Bellamy said as he bent down to pick up the dropped spatula.  
“No. Of course not.” Clarke said as she covered her mouth with the sleeve of the sweatshirt she was wearing so Bellamy wouldn’t see her smile.  
“What?” he asked as he caught her staring at him.  
“Nothing.” Clarke said. She couldn’t help but hope that this wasn’t a one-time thing. She couldn’t help but hope there would be many more mornings just like this one.

Octavia was waiting for Clarke in their room when she got back from classes that day.   
“So,” Octavia started, “how was your night?” She said it in a way that was completely suggestive. Clarke knew if Octavia knew who she was with last night she wouldn’t have said it in the same way.   
“It was… Good.” Clarke said with no sense of certainty.   
“Did you get laid?” she asked.  
“That’s none of your business.” Clarke said.  
“That’s about as much of an answer as I need.” Octavia smirked and went back to her homework. “You would have said no if you didn’t.”

Two weeks later Bellamy invited Octavia out for dinner, and in the middle of it he told her everything. She was mildly repulsed, but ultimately happy for the two.   
“I knew it!” She yelled in the middle of the restaurant.  
“You did not.” Bellamy said.  
“Maybe I didn’t know for sure, but I did hope a lot.”

Bellamy and Clarke were a couple. A full-blown, handholding, date-going couple. There was only one thing that they hadn’t done—one thing that scared both of them shitless. Bellamy had to meet Clarke’s mom.   
It was a three-day weekend at college—professors were catching up on their assignments, and there were no classes on Friday. Bellamy drove Clarke home, remembering the way there like the back of his hand.   
Clarke’s house was bigger than he remembered. He supposed that she was part of the upper middle class. Bellamy had been part of the lower class when he lived with his mother—food stamps were not a rarity in the Blake household. Bellamy suspected Clarke didn’t know what a food stamp looked like.   
Clarke didn’t knock when she got up to the door, just used her key to let herself in.   
A middle-aged woman wearing gray came around the corner and smiled at Clarke. “It’s such a nice surprise to have you home this weekend. I thought for sure you’d stay on campus.” The woman glanced at Bellamy and her smile nearly faltered before she caught herself.   
“Mom, this is my… this is Bellamy. Remember I told you about him?” Clarke said.  
“Ah. Yes. It’s very nice to meet you Bellamy.” Clarke’s mom stuck out a stiff hand for him to shake, and he did so gladly—any sign of acknowledgement was a good one, right?  
“We’re going to put our things in my room, okay?”  
“That’s fine sweetie. Dinner’s at seven.”  
Clarke had half a mind to feel embarrassed about her childhood room—the peeling poster of Sean Mendez on her wall and the fairy lights strung over her window weren’t the picture of sophistication. Bellamy didn’t seem to mind, he walked right in, set his duffel bag on the floor, and sat on her bed.   
“My mother never would’ve let us sleep in the same room together.”   
Clarke flopped down on the bed next to him and rolled over so that she was facing him. “You don’t really talk about her much,” she said, “your mom.” Clarke had gathered from Octavia that their mother had died two years ago—when Octavia was sixteen and Bellamy was twenty—but beside that she didn’t really know much about the woman.  
“She was… my mom.” He said. “It sounds pretty cheesy to say, but she was the best mom ever. She was an amazing cook and had the best sense of humor and always knew exactly what to say.” Bellamy let loose a big sigh.  
“How did she die?” Clarke asked as she laid her head on Bellamy’s chest.   
“A car accident.” He said. “There was an animal in the road, so another car swerved and hit her.”  
Clarke could tell that Bellamy was close to tears, so she leaned up, kissed the corner of his mouth, then snuggled back into the crook of his shoulder. 

Dinner was a somber event. The only points of conversation were Bellamy’s future plans and how they met each other. Clarke didn’t ask about her mother’s life because she knew that she had a new boyfriend and didn’t want to ask questions about that in front of Bellamy.   
After dinner Clarke and Bellamy went back to Clarke’s bedroom to watch a movie. Clarke had an old eighteen-inch TV on her dresser. The pair couldn’t decide what to watch but decided on an episode of Friends.   
Clarke and Bellamy lay there, under the blankets on her bed, spooning, watching Friends. “Do you like Rachel or Monica better?” Clarke asked as she stifled a yawn.  
“Neither, he answered. I’ve always been partial to Phoebe.”  
The episode ended and they started another one. Then another one. They both fell asleep at around the middle of the fourth episode. 

It was ten in the afternoon and Clarke and Bellamy were making out on Clarke’s bed, because that’s what you do when you have a very hot boyfriend whom is laying on your bed with you.  
Bellamy hooked his thumbs through her belt loops and stuck his index fingers into the top of her jeans. He pulled lightly, and her pants came down an inch.  
“Okay,” Clarke panted, “time out. We can’t have sex. The walls are paper-thin. My mother—my mother is in the other room.”  
“Okay.” Bellamy said with a slight nod. “No sex.” His hands were still on her hips; still in her belt loops and over her waistband. In one fluid movement he pulled, and her pants came off.   
“Bellamy—” Clarke began to complain.  
“You said no sex. You never said anything about this.” He said as he began to kiss his way down her neck.   
“It was implied.” Clarke sighed, but didn’t stop him.   
“I guess you’re just going to have to be quiet for a change.” He was by her navel now, kissing her sides, licking the arch where hip met stomach.   
Clarke sucked in a breath as she felt his fingers at the elastic waistband of her underwear. He dipped his fingers in, pulled them away, and repeated. He bit at the elastic with his teeth, pulling it away only to let it snap back against her again.   
He went lower, kissing where her thighs met her torso. He laid one single kiss over her still covered heat, and Clarke nearly lost it right there.   
Bellamy quickly removed her underwear and threw her thighs over his shoulders. She was practically dripping in front of him.   
He started with one long flat-tongued lick up her center. Clarke writhed under him and stifled a moan in her pillow. Bellamy chuckled softly at her reaction. He didn’t waste any time—he set to his task. Pretty soon Clarke wasn’t even trying to stifle her moans of pleasure.  
Bellamy could tell that she was close, and he stopped. Smiling, he raised himself up onto his elbows.  
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Clarke panted. “Do you know how close I am?”  
“Oh, I’m sorry,” he responded, “I didn’t think you wanted me to do this because the walls are thin.”  
“You smug bastard.” Clarke groaned and tried to rub her thighs together to gain some sort of friction.  
“Not so fast.” Bellamy said as he caught her legs before they closed.  
Slowly, Clarke opened her legs for him again. He positioned himself between them once more.   
He blew cold air onto her.   
“Bellamy…” Clarke moaned.  
He chuckled, and it hadn’t been thirty seconds before Clarke went over the edge, moaning his name.  
After, Bellamy wrapped her in his arms, so she was the little spoon. Clarke’s limbs were still soft and heavy, and it wasn’t long before they both fell asleep. 

Clarke and Bellamy were back at college nearly a month after Bellamy had met Clarke’s mother. Bellamy was in the café attached to the bookstore, ordering a solitary piece of pie with two forks and two cups of coffee. Clarke was standing by their usual spot—two over-stuffed armchairs near the window—admiring a piece of artwork. Bellamy thanked the barista for the coffee, but didn’t immediately go over to Clarke, instead he took a moment to appreciate her. His girlfriend. The way that her hair brushed her shoulders, the slight pop of the hip her hand rested on, her light and easy smile. Bellamy couldn’t remember a time where he was happier.   
“Here you are…” he said approaching Clarke and offering her the cup of coffee in his hand. Clarke smiled and took the coffee and the piece of pie that he was balancing on the crook of his elbow.   
They sat down and began talking about nothing. They talked about the book Clarke had just finished reading “You would love it, there are gods and everything.”  
They talked about stupid things like how Bellamy needed a haircut and how Octavia snored. It was perfect.   
Bellamy stood up to return the plate and their coffee cups, and Clarke couldn’t help but let her eyes follow him. He was graceful and beautiful and completely hers.  
Neither Clarke nor Bellamy had anywhere particular to be that day after their date, so they wandered downtown, swinging their clasped hands between them.   
Standing at a crosswalk, completely alone except for the cars passing them by, Bellamy pulled Clarke to him in a hug. “I love you.” He mumbled into her hair. “I love you so much.”  
It was the first time either of them had said it, but to Clarke it felt like a light switch went off in her head—she wondered why she hadn’t said it earlier, because of course she loved Bellamy. “I love you too.” She said as she pulled away slightly so she could look into his eyes.   
Bellamy’s face broke out into a goofy grin as he leaned down to kiss her—the woman that he loved.   
The light for the crosswalk changed and the couple continued their walk, holding each other a little closer than they were before, and a little happier than they were before too.


End file.
